


Night of the CreepSlayerz

by Legionnaire24601



Category: Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: Badass Steve, Badass Toby, Barbara kicks some ass too, But honestly Top Eli, Creepslayerz, F/M, Followed by jk, Gen, Horror, I was told to add more tags, M/M, Multi, Stricklake - Freeform, Suspense, Those suggested were, Top Eli, Winged Strickler
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 15:23:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15560724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Legionnaire24601/pseuds/Legionnaire24601
Summary: Eli and Steve both flinched backwards when the Table beneath them shuddered violently as his hands suddenly shot out across the table towards Steve, but Strickler was faster, snatching his wrists before he could get a grip on Steve's neck.“What the Heck man!” Steve snapped his brown eyes wide and nervous betraying his fear.





	1. Chapter 1

The apartment complex on the hill.

6:00 a.m.

It’s the wind chimes that hung from outside of Mrs. Ridgeways apartment window that pulled Mick McCormack from his restless sleep a good hour before his alarm had been set to the task. He stared at the pale grey ceiling of his apartment, rubbed at his sweat slick forehead and swallowed thickly. He’d had that dream again. He shivered. Blinking the last of sleep away, McCormack twisted to the side and reached over to the nightstand to pick up the bottle he had there to take a cool drink of water, trying to rid himself of the taste of copper and ash that his dream had left in his mouth.

Mick sat up, scratching at his head as he drew his knees up towards his chest, the sheets rustling harshly with the swift movement. Try as he might he just couldn’t remember what the dream was about, he never could. Mick took another swig from the bottle and He swung his legs over the edge of his mattress to stand and move to look out his open window. Warm wind blew into his face, and now, before the sweet gold Californian sun had rose high enough to even kiss the base of the Arcadian hill tops, and the deep blue sky was still expelling Nights purple black hue, the heat of the day could be felt. The small town of Arcadia was going to hit past the hundreds McComack thought idly, taking another gulp of water.

He sighed, returned to the bottle to its place on the nightstand and went to take a shower, pausing in front of the bathroom mirror to take in his appearance. Light Gray-blue eyes deeply set within his face, rimed dark around the edges with the blue marker of sleeplessness peered back at him from the reflection, swept, with mild scrutiny, the pale freckled skin, the thin angular ridges of his jaw and cheekbones, covered in gold stubble. He smiled at himself, his jaw giving a mild audible click at the motion.

Mick’s features would have been sharp and serious had it not been for his constant smile; a jovial upturn of his lips that pulled adorably to the left due in part to a misaligned jaw that occasionally twinged painfully but nonetheless did not deter him from grinning merrily. He was a friendly guy, slow of reaction and slow to anger, His habits unchanging. And a year after the near apocalyptic forces that had come to Arcadia, Mick’s quiet, dependable and predictable habits were something the citizens of Arcadia sorely wanted. Despite the chaos that the revelation of trolls and goblins and who knows what else had caused with everyone else’s lives, it had improved, rather than harmed, McCormack’s life.

An easy going hired hand whose greatest scholarly accomplishment was passing Strickler’s AP History class with a C, Mick liked to work with his hands, he liked to build things, and he was good at it too. But Arcadia had very little need for handymen and work was hard to come by. That was of course, until the day of Eternal Night. When those black armored creatures burst forth from the darkest, bleakest, depths of the earth and tried to consume the entire city. Mick McCormack shivered at the memory. He didn’t really know how all those things were destroyed, only that they left Arcadia a mess, and with the whole town involved in a crazy hush up conspiracy it wasn’t like they could hire outside help to clean up the ruin. Suddenly, everyone seemed to know who he was and what was best was that they were willing to pay for his help. Try as he might Mick couldn’t feel sad over having a steady flow of income, regardless of the circumstances why. Having money, well, it was a nice change. He winked at himself, scratched at the base of his throat and turned towards the shower to wash up.

* * *

 

The boy with the glasses.

6:30 a.m.

Eli Pepperjack rested his head against the pane of his bedroom window, ignoring the slight pressure that the temple of his glasses caused the ridge of his ears and blinked tiredly out into the street. Next to him, in his rickety rocking chair, Steve Palchuk sat asleep, his blond head thrown back and his mouth wide and open letting out a ruckus snore. Eli sighed and allowed himself a small smile. The larger boy had fallen asleep roughly around 2 a.m. when he had grown bored with their spying for Aja and Krel. The two Aliens were convinced that the two flower shop owners, Ed and Lora Brune, were bounty hunters from their planet, intent on taking them out for good. It didn’t take much for Eli to be convinced, Steve however was more skeptical. And he said so every time Pepperjack pestered him at him about following up with the two royals. But, as was becoming his habit, Steve indulged him, and together they had spent the better part of the week following the shop keepers in the hopes of proving Aja and Krel right. Trying to capture them in their true forms, so far they had not been successful.

Eli yawned, his breath clouding the glass, and brushed his hair out of his face. His room was already starting get hot. He sighed and pulled his head from the window, frowning as his cheek stuck to the glass. Rubbing at his face, Eli removed his glasses and a nerve in his ear thrummed with relief as he stood and stretched. Below, downstairs, his mother, having heard him, began to come up.

In an instant Eli forgot to breathe and looked at the snoring blond in his rocking chair. He grabbed the boy by his broad shoulders. “Steve wake up!” Palchuk’s head twisted to the side and yawned straight into his face. The remnants of the vanilla wafers and hot chocolate that Eli had given him still lingered on his breath. Eli paused, shook his head and gently slapped Steve’s cheek.

“Whatsgoinon? Steve asked opening his eyes blearily.

“It’s my mom.” Those brown eyes blinked at him uncomprehending.

“So?”

“She doesn’t like you remember?”

“Oh.”

“You need to go.”

Steve smiled, a gentle upturn of his lips, “Five more minutes.”

Behind him the sound of footsteps on the stairs paused. Had she heard Steve? She must be half way up the stairs by now. Eli turned, unclasped the hasp on the window and with strength he was still unused to possessing, shoved it open. He turned back again, grabbed Steve by his shirt and leaned forward.

“Go out the window, now!” He hissed.

Steve smirked and pushed him back, “I’m up… I’m up…” He paused and licked his lips repeatedly, “I had the strangest dream though.”

“Tell me later, just get out! Get out!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Steve flicked his hands at him and shook his head. Eli was now smacking his hand against Steve’s back as the blonde rose from his rocking chair. The rocker whined in protest.

“Jeez Eli can’t you oil that thing?” Steve asked twisting around, leaning half way out the window, one leg still dangling within Eli’s room. Eli glared at him and said nothing. From the staircase, his mother’s footsteps started their ascent again and raking his hands through his dark hair in a panic, Eli stepped forward, planted the sole of his shoe against Steve’s thigh and shoved the boy the rest of the way out.

Steve managed an indignant “Hey!” before hitting the low hanging roof below Eli’s window with an audible thump. Flinching, he stuck his head out the window, in time to see Steve jogging off his mother’s lawn. He seemed alright. Eli sighed in relief as Palchuk disappeared down the street. Seconds later Mick McCormack’s old, dust covered, yellow, Volkswagen, rumbled down the road.

He threw himself into his chair as His door opened and his mother poked her dark head into his room. “Eli?” “Morning, Mom.” “What was that noise?” She asked, suspicious eyes glinting like flint behind the lenses of her glasses as she scanned the room. He leaned back in the rocker, wincing as the wood growled and wheezed painfully by the movement.

“Just the rocking chair Mom.”

* * *

The Doctor

7:00 a.m.

“I’m just not feeling too good Doc.” Royce Perin looked up at her from tired, wary and red- shot eyes. “Feel sick.”

Barbara nodded gazed over the top of her clipboard at the pale man and pulled the stethoscope from his chest. The echo of the sound of blood pumping through his heart, whooshing through the valves more rapidly than what she knew was normal, remained in her ears.

“and I keep having these dreams.”

“What are they about?” Perin sniffed and shrugged his shoulders.

“I don’t remember.”

“When did these dreams start?” Barbara asked leaning back towards the sink and pulling a tissue from its box laying in the corner. She handed it to Perin, who took it gratefully.

“Thanks,” Perin sniffed again, “Three weeks ago? McCormack and I were cleaning that mess town below the bridge, that Palchuk kid led us there.”

“Trollmarket?” Barbara asked feeling a dark wave of dread wash over her, she shook it off. Lots of Arcadian citizens were still reeling from the events of last year. Nightmares were now common.

“Yeah,” Perin sighed, “Mick left early to help your guy at the museum so I was there by myself.”

Royce grabbed his thick yellow and green plaid shirt from the bed he sat on and began to put it back on. “Touch anything?” “No.” He sniffed again, buttoning up the shirt. The soft fabric rustled and twisted with the movement, dark green turning lime in the bright hospital lights. Her bright blue eyes swept over the sickly looking man critically and her gaze caught a small purple bruise that lay at the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

“Where’d you get that?” Barbara asked messing with the rims of her glasses with one hand and pointing to the bruise with the other. Royce frowned.

“Not sure…”

They stared at each other, Royce trying to remember how he got the bruise and Barbara waiting for him patiently.

“I don’t remember.” Dark brown eyes met hers with something almost like panic, before they calmed and went half lidded.

“Mmm, my wife actually.” He grinned sheepishly, but the smile did not reach his gaze. Barbara knew then that He wasn’t being entirely truthful. Choosing not to voice her suspicion, Barbara instead changed the subject, “while you were down there did you Inhale anything?”

“Just a whole bunch of dust,” Royce rubbed at his eyes, the tissue crumpled tightly in his left hand.

“See anything there?” She asked scribbling down his answers on her notes.

“No.”

Another silent pause.

“… I saw Dr. Harris first, he took blood tests.” Perin said trying to be helpful, scratching at his neck, and offering her a weak smile before moving to roll up his sleeves.

“Nurse Dan is bringing them.” Barbara forced a smile, the muscles of her face refusing to move properly and she was certain it came off as a grimace. Almost as if he was summoned Dan stepped into the room.

“Sorry,” He smiled at Royce before leaning in towards Barbara.

“Sorry.” He repeated handing her the blood test results. “Mrs. Earnshaw escaped again.”

Barbara nodded, and took the file. In the hallway, the wheels of Mrs. Earnshaw’s wheelchair squealed in their haste to make another escape. Chuckling, Dr. Lake watched Nurse Dan jog out of the room with mild amusement and opened the file to read. There, in Doctor Harris’s rough scrawl Barbara could make out the diagnosis.

_Pernicious Anemia._

* * *

 

The Town beneath the Bridge.

9:00 a.m.

Mick McCormack tried again to call Roy. He’d been down in this creep town all by himself cleaning for over an hour now. This time when he called, Royce Perin did not answer, but his wife did. Anne had answered in a soft and tired voice.

“Hey Anne, is Roy—“

“-- Mick, Roy has gone to see Dr. Lake.”

This did not surprise him as Roy had been complaining to anyone who’d listen about feeling crummy ever since their last cleanup of Trollmarket, about three weeks prior. Perin didn’t like to come down here. Not that he could blame Roy, the place was cold and dark and there was an eerie silence that seemed to fill the place. Mick rolled his shoulders, and tightened his grip on the handle of his broom as he half listened to Anne. She was now just complaining about her and her son’s symptoms.

Mick allowed his eyes to roam over the dark dull crystals that erupted from the ground, wondering if they were worth anything.

“I think I’m going to take Ian and myself there too because I’m not feelin’ so good and Ian’s friend Hallie started feeling sick too after he went over for a playdate.”

He paused in his observation of the dark shadowed crystals and blinked down at his feet.

 _Jeez I hope it’s not contagious_ he thought, remembering how pale Roy had been the last time he’d seen him.

“Yeah ok, I hope you guys feel better.” Mick said casually, hoping she would get the hint and hang up. His eyes snapped back up to the dark broken crystal in the middle of the town without warning and stared. Anne was still talking, but her voice was dull and distant.

_Stop staring at me._

That black crystal loomed silently.

McCormack frowned and started towards it, pausing only when he realized that he couldn’t hear Anne anymore. Mick blinked, tore his gaze away from the crystal and pulled the cell away from his ear, Shaking his head in surprise. How long ago had she hung up?

The clock on the phone read 10:30 a.m.

When did he call Perin?

He couldn’t remember.

The muscles of his back tightened as if against some unseen force, and McCormack found his gaze being pulled back to its spot on the… What had the Palchuk kid called it? Heartstone?

 _Stop looking at me_.

He glared at the useless rock, at its uncut sides all black, cracked and lonely. His neck prickled as a small gust of wind swept through the market and despite the slowly rising Californian heat Mick shivered. He set his shoulders and stomped towards the center of the market, the broom in his hand raised with determined purpose. Perin wasn’t coming and he had a lot to clean up. The sooner he finished the sooner he could leave.

* * *

 

4:00 p.m

He moved the broom, back and forth, back and forth, sweeping the ash and black dust into the heavy metal pan before bending and dumping the contents into the garbage bag. Over and over again he worked. His large vacuum cleaner had gotten clogged early on and so Mick had to make do.

Thump, thump, the bristles of his broom hummed as they scrapped the floor.

Mick bent over again and picked up the pan, His back creaked in protest at the repetitive action, but he ignored it.

From behind him a soft hum seemed to emanate from the Heartstone. His heart leaped into his throat and McCormack whirled around, breathing heavily. Black dust swirled around him. He coughed, not taking his eyes off of that foul pathetic rock.

_Stop staring at me._

Wiping sweat from his brow, Mick McCormack gingerly held the broom in front of him as if to hold off the large broken crystal, worrying irrationally that it would move closer to him if he took his eyes from it. Instead the heartstone remained harmlessly in place, as its smooth surface glittered at him. A malevolent black, Mick thought, a foul empty color. Looking at it he could see his reflection, a perfect shadow in the unlit cavern.

The shadow stared back.

“Stop staring at me.” He snarled out loud, tightening his hold on the broom, suddenly wanting nothing more than to leave. The longer he stared the larger his dark reflection grew. That sense of being watched grew rather than lessened the longer he stood there.

 _Stop looking at me_.

Against his better judgment, Mick McCormack stepped closer to heartstone.

_Someone is stuck in there._

The thought came to him so quickly, He suddenly jerked and took a step backward, shaking his head. He looked up to the surface above him and flinched as he realized how dark it had gotten. He looked back at the dead Heartstone, its shadows were getting very long now.

Sweat dripped into his eyes and Mick rubbed at them with his arm before looking down at his wrist, His watch read 6:30 p.m.

He felt his heart crawl up into his throat.

How could have time flown so fast?

The dark was starting to play with his mind, encasing his thoughts until there was nothing else but the blackness.

The shadows called to him in a low gentle hum.

Mick McCormack listened, feeling very, very tired.

_Oh my creator, favor me now._

The voice that came out of him was not his own.

Mick let the broom scrape against the floor as he stepped towards the heartstone.

Thump.

Thump.

The feeling of being watched had increased in its intensity. And his shadow, dancing in the void, grew larger.

 _There’s someone stuck in there_. Mick thought irrationally, shivering as the cold clung to him.

_Yes that’s it! someone is stuck in there, in the dark, Their cold eyes open and staring at him from the shadows of that dead black crystal._

He paused and stared at the pile of dark, purple dust that he had swept into a circle around him.

_When did I?_

_Someone was stuck in there._

Wind brushed the dust he had swept, up to his nose. Mick inhaled deeply and that humming, that soft music filled his ears. He panted as he tried to tear his gaze away from the crystal. The dark stretched out towards him viscid and alive.

_Someone is in there and they were staring at him and something ought to be done about it._

Mick stretched his palm out to the cool surface of the crystal, his shadow-self reaching back towards him in mimicry.

 _Crack open the Heartstone!_ Mick thought wildly. Yes, that was the ticket! open the Heartstone and close those awful eyes. He had a couple of quarters in his pocket, that’ll work. Yes that will do just fine. Open the stone open it wide, find their cold green eyes and slip the quarters over them. That’ll work.

Inspired Mick dropped the broom and fumbled through his pockets to pull out his small screwdriver.

 _I’ll let you out!_ He thought triumphantly as his hand wrapped around the handle.

_That’s insane, what are you thinking?_

He wanted to stop but something… that humming… at the back of his mind was urging him to hurry. Sweat dripped down his forehead and streaked down his chest. Mick McCormack raised the screwdriver and stabbed the heartstone with all his might.

  _I am yours my Eldritch Queen_

The words came unbidden to his mind as the heartstone crumbled beneath the force of his blow and the sweet humming filled the air with rapturous power. His senses dulled as black foul dust filled his mouth and lungs, and from the dark, cold green eyes stared back at him.


	2. Chapter 2

Arcadia

The town of Arcadia no longer had much of a night life. The Event, and its subsequent aftershocks had seen to that. For weeks afterward the citizens of Arcadia had the misfortune of witnessing gruesome creatures slip out of the shadows to dine on the remains of the fallen. And for what seemed like an eternity Arcadia was plagued by things that seemed to crawl out of nightmares. After a while it just seemed safer to remain in doors. If one were to walk the streets after sunset they would find a town devoid of movement. The gray concrete sidewalks are silent and dull without the hustle of pedestrians. Empty flat roads that, should one walk on, the footfalls of that lonely soul would echo across the colorless, crumbling buildings that were surrounded by pale construction cones, the cones were to signify that an effort was being made at restoration, though that effort was about as faded as the rest of the town, and so they, and the buildings they boardered, remained unchanged for the better part of a year. This is what one would see, if one were to walk the streets of Arcadia after sunset. But most of the citizens of Arcadia knew better, and so hardly anyone ever did.

* * *

 

Patrol

6:00 p.m.

 

The flat end of the warhammer smashed against the small pebble with all the grace and skill of a professional golf player. However, for all the power put in behind the blow, the pebble did not go far, it was merely content in its new found inertia as to go about as far as  three feet ahead before it bounced against a faded colored rubber cone with a dull and audible plunk. It rolled back towards the boy who hit it. With a frustrated sigh Tobias Domzalski gave the rock a kick, watching sullenly, as it skipped into the dark. His left knee twinged in protest at the action, before flaring angrily, a reminder of a two hour long battle with an unusually smart Gruesome. Arrrgh, who was padding along a few paces behind him, stopped, as Toby gave a minute groan and shuffled his weight over to his right leg. The cold night breeze did nothing to help his now stiffening knee, and Toby carefully placed his warhammer the ground like a cane before leaning against it.

“Wingman?” Arrrgh’s gentle and concerned rumble brought his attention from the discomfort. 

 

“It’s ok, I got this.” Toby inhaled deeply, slowly extending and flexing his left leg with controlled movements. 

 

“Why…” He sighed,” why don’t you go ahead, take Gibson street and I’ll take Doshier avenue and we meet back up at the house. Cover more ground.”

For a moment Arrrgh hesitated, but when Toby turned to look at him with a determined stare, the troll nodded and slowly lumbered away. He smiled as the heavy footfalls of his wingman disappeared in the dark. He appreciated the efforts the large troll took in order to preserve the gentle fiction that Toby did these patrols out of a sense of duty, rather than a vain attempt to stave of loneliness. When the pain in his leg faded enough for him to start walking again. Toby raised the warhammer over his shoulder and continued forward, limping, slightly down the empty streets. His green eyes passed over the shadows that twisted and moved beneath the flickering street lights. Content that there was nothing to be found he turned down Doshier avenue, unsurprised to see that the street was empty. Hardly anyone was ever out here after dark. 

He continued on, his only companions the gravel and chipped concrete that crunched loudly beneath his sneakers. So used to the continuous silence that had settled within Arcadia it took Toby six blocks to realize that he was humming along to a faint and distinct music. Low, melodious it floated through the air, calling for attention.  Toby paused, a heavy weight settling within his stomach.

How long had he been hearing it?

Toby rubbed at his eyes trying to rid himself of the wave of tiredness that suddenly settled on him. 

For the briefest of moments Toby felt like someone was watching him. Flinching, He looked over his shoulder, and found… nothing.

The streetlamps flickered, drawing shadows in and dispersing them, like a slow rolling waves of the ocean. In the distance ash black clouds drifted lazily towards the town. The wispy fingers of the stratus clouds, a deep misty purple in the fading sunlight, crawled closer along the sky. He watched for a moment, suddenly feeling very cold. His left knee pulsed. Shivering he adjusted his jacket against the cold eastern breeze and turned away.

* * *

  
  
  


6:45 p.m.

The Jock

 

Laying on his back staring at the purple evening sky on the roof of an antique shop, Steve Palchuk was thinking about Sawyer’s Pizzaria. He could practically taste the tomatoes and oregano the more he thought of it and despite his best efforts to stifle the noise, Steve’s stomach gave a loud, annoyed rumble. From his position on the roof, he could see Eli’s small shoulders stiffen at the sound. 

“I’m hungry.” Steve announced for the fifth time in the last ten minutes.  Eli as he expected said nothing, but continued to stare through his spy catalogue purchased binoculars at the flower shop across the street. His stomach grumbled again and Steve ran a hand through his hair, before sitting up, sighing as his lower back creaked. Shifting from side to side impatiently, Steve got to his feet and moved over to stand next to the other boy.

 

“Let’s get a pizza.”

“We had pizza last time.” Eli said not looking up from his binoculars.

“Chinese then,” Steve shrugged, and flashed him a smile. “I’m not picky Pepperjack, just--” 

“Hungry,” Eli interrupted, “I know, but-” 

“But nothin,” Steve cut him off, “Look, we’ve been sitting here on this roof for 3 hours now.”

“But...” Pepperjack tried again.    
“Those alien flower creeps aren’t gonna show, Eli. We’ve been stood up.” Steve grin fell a bit at Eli’s incredulous stare and feeling a bit uncomfortable at the ensuing silence he leaned to peer over the edge of the building’s roof to watch the troll Arrrgh come down the street. Alone. 

He knew his friend’s general crankiness was mostly due to having followed the alleged aliens for over a week with nothing to show for it, and, whether Eli admitted to it or not, he was probably hungry too. He pursed his lips and frowned, how to convince him to leave? 

 

“Hey,” He lit up, and snapped his fingers at a sudden thought, “Why don’t we set up a couple of your spy cameras, have them send the feed to your computer and that way we don’t have to stay up here all night. You know how to do that right?”

Steve watched as Eli finally detached himself from his binoculars and removed his glasses before pinching the bridge of his nose, a sign that he was, at least, considering it. While he waited expectantly,his stomach gave another low gurgle, and this time Eli gave a small laugh.

“Sure,” Eli sighed casting a disappointed glance over at the boutique shop while also clearly cursing himself for not thinking of it himself.

* * *

  
  


7:00 p.m

The Dream   
  


They got halfway to the restaurant they had agreed on, when they realized that neither one of them had money.

“Coach is out with my Mom down in LA for some sorta concert, they won’t be back until late.”

“Could always ask Strickler.” Eli suggested trying to salvage the evening.

 

Steve considered it for a moment before shaking his head. “Nah. he’ll want us to help him babysit or work at the museum to pay it off.”

“I like the museum.” Eli countered halfheartedly. “There’s that new mummy exhibit that I want to check out.

“Maybe tomorrow we’ll ask him, but I’m beat. I think we have stuff at my house to make sandwiches.” Steve said stretching.

 

They continued to walk to Steve’s house in relative silence until Eli remembered the conversation they had in the morning. “Steve.”

 

“Hm?”

“You said you had a strange dream.”

“Oh yeah.”

“What was it about?”

Steve frowned and looked up to the sky as they kept walking.    
“I was in Arcadia, except it wasn’t Arcadia. Not really. It was dark, too dark, and it felt empty…”

 

“More empty than it already is?”

Steve shook his head, “No there was stuff, the shops, all the other junk that’s there, but like … it had no presence? It was there but not? Does that make sense?”

 

Eli shrugged and kicked at a rock in the middle of the road.    
“Not really, no.”

“Whatever.” He growled.  “That’s what it felt like. And there was.” Steve cut himself off.

 

Eli took about ten steps before he realized that Steve was no longer following him, much less talking. He turned around.

Steve was watching the clouds almost as if in a trance. They were drifting in over the town faster now, and with their black coloring and their strange shapes that called to mind the image of grasping fingers, it gave the night sky a portentous appearance. Eli shook his head in an effort to rid himself of the unease that had settled in his chest. A cloud, was just a cloud, condensed water, drifting up in the atmosphere. There was no reason, no reason at all, for him to feel that the water vapor floating above his head was anything other than what it was.

 

Shivering, he wished he had brought a jacket. Steve was now looking into the distance. He followed his friends gaze. They had walked too far ahead and now they had perfect view of the bridge above what used to be Trollmarket. A warning pulsed at the back of his mind.

 

“Steve?” Eli asked hating how his voice cracked with worry. “Steve, what else was there?”

“Music.”

“Hm?”

“There was music, it was really nice, there was a voice.”

 

The blond remained rooted to the spot, his eyes glazed over as he stared at the shadowed bridge.

Eli nervously looked from the bridge to Steve and took a step closer, “A voice?”

“Said I should go back.”   
“Go back where?” This time he didn’t hesitate to reach out and grip the taller boy’s arm, suddenly fearing that Steve would run off if he didn’t.

Steve didn’t answer, instead he bit his bottom lip anxiously while he pointed towards the bridge.

“I think we should go.”

“No,” Eli said fiercely. The strength behind his voice surprised him and Eli tightened his grip on Steve’ arm.

“No. Lets just…. Lets just go home ok?” 

He tugged at him but Steve said nothing. 

Eli tugged at him again, “Let’s go home, make some food. ”

Steve blinked and looked down at him. “Food?”

“Yeah, you said you were hungry,” Eli looked up at him hopefully over the rims of his glasses, “Lets go.”

Still the taller boy hesitated, he looked back out towards the bridge. Eli reluctantly followed his gaze. The sky pitch black and starless and the clouds had now draped completely over Arcadia, having strangled the last bit of purple that remained from the evening light. Shadows urged by the wind twisted towards them. He became uncomfortably aware of how cold he felt. The warning pulsing at the back of his mind now urged him to leave.

“Steve, please.” Eli pleaded.

This time his voice seemed to bring the rest of Steve back to himself, for the boy shook his head as if to shake away whatever it was that held him in place.  He tore his gaze from the bridge and looked at Eli, eyes confused, but no longer glazed over.

Relief washed over Eli when Steve smiled and took a step towards him, “ yeah, let’s ...Let’s go.”

* * *

 

8:00 p.m

Harmony Point

 

Mick McCormack awoke on the grassy hill of Harmony Point without having any recollection of how he got there. Breathing in the cold night air, He tried to piece together the events of the evening. It was no use, his memory was pitch black, a quick check of his phone told him that his battery was dead and what was worse, was, that his neck felt like it was on fire. A strangled moan escaped him as attempting to move only worsened the pain. Dark clouds drifted high above him. Unsure of how he got there, and unable to move, Mick McCormack began to hum quietly to himself. Eventually, He fell asleep.

* * *

 

9:00 p.m.

The Perin Household

 

The aroma of tomato sauce and garlic bread filled the house, warm and inviting. Anne Perin gave one last taste of her work. She nodded to herself in approval before putting the spoon into the sink. She looked at the watch on her right wrist and frowned. Roy was late. Not an uncommon event, with his working odd jobs, but usually he’d call. 

“Ian come on! Time for dinner.” She called out, placing the plates at the table and smiling as the sound of squeaking light up sneakers tapped rapidly from the second floor, down the stairs and towards the dining room. Anne had half a second to register that her son was going to try to leap onto his chair, before he actually did. In an instant she threw her arms out and caught him midair, wincing at his sudden weight.    
“Ian,” She admonished as he giggled happily.

“How many times,” She plopped Ian on his seat, “Have i told you not to jump on the chair?”

Ian said nothing but shrugged, blinking up at her with brown, humor filled eyes, so very similar to those of his father.

“No Jumping.” Anne said poking his nose fondly, turning to reenter the kitchen. Behind her the jingle of keys unlocking the front door, told her that Roy was home.

 

When she came back out, arms straining with the weight of the spagetti and the basket of steaming bread. She saw that Ian was holding very still and frowning at Royce who was sitting at the table. His head was hanging, almost bonelessly over his plate. He was paler than when he had left to the hospital this morning. Anne cocked her head to the side, careful to keep her expression neutral despite her inner panic, forcibly aware that Ian was looking between the two of them trying to determine how he should feel about his father's haggard appearance.

Anne forced a smile and placed the food on the table, moving to serve them, while watching her husband warily.

Royce did not move.

Ian speared a meatball with his fork and began to nibble on it, his eyes not moving from Royce. 

“What did Dr. Lake say?” She asked trying to get him to say something.

Silence. 

Sitting down Anne took a good look at her husband. Beads of sweat were forming on his pale forehead, and his breathing was labored. She tried again.

“Roy?”

Perin said nothing, but picked up his fork and poked the meatball around on his plate with disinterested curiosity. 

Ian stared at his father in silence, his small round face clouding with worry.

“Roy?”

Still he didn’t respond. Instead, he raised his head to look out the window.

He started to hum.

From outside, someone else began to hum as well.

“Mom?” Ian whispered.

Anne stood, the legs of her chair screeching against the wooden floor, and walked over to the window. Through the glass all she could see was the shadow of her own reflection, distinct against the darkness of the night. Despite her best attempts, seeing outside was impossible, but she could swear Royce was looking at something. 

Feeling very cold, Anne licked her lips and turned back to her son.

“Ian.” She whispered, and her son looked up at her with worry and fear.

“Go upstairs.”

“But.”

“Daddy’s not feeling well, go upstairs… now.”

 

The final word was uttered with a totality that brokered no argument. Little Ian jumped from the kitchen table and ran up the stairs towards his room. The dining room lit up with the red and blue colors of his sneakers as he disappeared.

From her peripheral, the back porch light turned on, and Anne, with slowly dawning horror realized that in the slight space beneath the door and the floor, someone  or something was casting shadow. The humming was getting louder now, melodious and pleasant and Anne could feel herself get very, very tired. She wanted to sleep, and in the back of her mind a soft voice encouraged her.

Ian.

Her son’s name came unbidden into her mind, briefly breaking whatever had a hold of her. 

Anne stumbled backwards crashing into the dining room table

She grabbed her husband by the shoulders and shook him. “Roy! Roy, please.”

He ignored her, and a gentle knock came at the back door. So soft, Anne thought she might have imagined it.

“Come in.” Roy said his voice hoarse and raspy and not his own. 

_ What was just invited into my house?  _ Anne thought as the cold chill of pure terror shot up her spine as her husband’s words registered. Refusing to look at the door Anne let go of Royce’s shoulders and  ran through the dining room towards the stairs.

Desperately she looked up to the second floor, where Ian stood, small and pale and shaking. She needed to get her son.

Anne dashed up the stairs.

Behind her, the knob twisted all the way and the door opened with horrific slowness while Royce Perin collapsed.

 


	3. Chapter 3

1 a.m.

Dan the Nurse

 

When the EMT’S had barreled into the clinic just a minute before 1 a.m.  Daniel should have been outside. He should have been out in the cool night air, scratching miserably at the nicotine patch that lay beneath his scrubs. He should have been wishing for nothing more than to be home, with a lit Gold Flake cig between his lips and the chance to continue ruining his lungs, unhindered. Instead he had standing in the middle of a brightly lit hallway, attempting to block the exit and trying desperately not to close his eyes and fall asleep while standing.

 

“Mrs. Earnshaw… Catherine,” He begged hating the nasal pitch of his voice and how it sounded to his own ears. Catherine stared at him and shook her white aged head. Spreading his arms out and widening his stance in a futile attempt to block the patient, he continued, “please be reasonable, you can’t leave.  This isn’t even the right exit.”

 

“I like you, Daniel. Really I do. But,” Earnshaw wagged her finger at him, her other hand slowly lowering itself to grip the left wheel of her wheelchair, “I have no intention of staying here, young man.” 

Dan’s tired gaze followed the movement, before shooting back up to pin his patient with a weary stare, knowing full well what she intended to do. The heat from the patch on his deltoid flared and Dan pushed away the violent urge to rip it off.

 

“Mrs. Earnshaw, my shift is over; I just want to go home.” He tried again fighting to keep his eyes open. He yawned, and rolled his itching shoulder. “But I can’t unless I know you’re in your room.”

 

“Danny Boy, if you’re smart you’ll go home and let me roll myself out of this miserable town before it’s attacked again.”

 

“Arcadia hasn’t had an ‘incident’ in months,” Dan frowned and pulled at his sleeve,” If this is about those nightmares you and the other patients have been having…”

 

“Of course it’s about the nightmares boy,” Catherine scoffed angrily before she inhaled deeply, her pale hands tightening as she was preparing to wheel herself out to freedom, regardless of whether or not he was in the way.  She would have, too, Daniel realized as he adjusted his footing, had the paramedics not burst through the doors screaming for the both of them to get out of the way. Dan barely had time to jump out of the path of the speeding gurney. And even less time to observe the man strapped to it.

 

Dark, thick hair was plastered against the deathly pale forehead. The skin around his eyes and throat were a deep purple. And the thick yellow and green plaid shirt the man wore was dark with sweat.  It was the shirt that sparked a sense of familiarity at the back of Daniel’s mind. A heavy weight settled in Daniels chest and stayed there. He frowned and watched behind narrowed eyes and with new slightly worried interest as the pram was run down the hall, and past the emergency doors. When the squealing of the wheels had at last faded from hearing. Dan turned back to Earnshaw who had managed to wheel herself to the opposite side of the corridor. The old woman had not stopped staring at the emergency room doors. The hinges of the emergency room doors whined almost as if in pain as the doors continued to swing open and then closed. Opened and Closed. Opened and closed. The doors gave off one last jolt and then the whines died. Daniel shuddered, feeling Earnshaw’s anxiousness coming off of her in timid yet constant waves. A touch of unease that slithered up his neck, Daniel shivered and reached out for her. Mrs. Earnshaw looked up at him, those dark eyes seeming to say, _“You feel it too, now don’t you, Danny boy?”_

 

Daniel let his arms drop and instead wrapped them around his chest.

 

 “Mrs. Earnshaw,” Dan said quietly, scratching at his arm and wincing at the action worsened his discomfort. “Let me take you to your room.” 

Catherine said nothing but continued to stare at the doors. Her pale and aged hands tightened nervously on the armrest of her wheelchair.

 

“There is nothing to worry about,” He tried to reassure her, though he could feel in his own heart that this was not the case.

 

“Oh Danny,” Mrs. Earnshaw shook her head. She turned to look at him and suddenly looked very much her age, “It’s already too late.”

* * *

 

 

4 a.m.

The Doctor

 

When her cell phone vibrated at four in the morning, Barbara’s first reaction was irritation. It had taken her a considerable amount of time to relax enough to be on the verge of sleep. And, having already settled in for the night and ensconced herself comfortably, within Walter’s warm and heavy arms, she was unwilling to move.  Lips pressing tightly together in annoyance, Barbara glared as the phone casted the room in a pale white light, demanding she answer. Reaching over, Barbara slapped her palm against the phone screen and dragged it from the night stand. The faint grainy slide of plastic against wood was unusually loud in the quiet of the night and behind her Walter hummed a little in his sleep, before he gently pressed his face between her shoulder blades.

 

“Hello?” she said groggily into the phone.

 

“Barb,” Lois Creed’s weary voice came in muffled from the other end of the line. “I am so sorry to have to wake you but there has been a development with Royce Perin.”

 

Barbara blinked in the darkness for a moment, minutely aware of the warm press of Walter’s chest, the blue black light of the room and the sudden violent heave her heart gave as her eyes widened the instant the words of the caller registered.

 

“What happened, Lois?”

 

“Perin was brought in after 1 a.m. this morning by the EMT’s. They’d been called when Royce had knocked on the neighbor’s doors asking to be invited in. When they first caught sight of him they thought he was tripping on something.”

 

“God.” She breathed.

 

“I’m calling because the police might want to ask if you or Harris prescribed anything that might have given him a reaction.”

Barbara and flung Walt’s arm from her waist and swung her legs over the edge of the mattress and stood; regretting the action the instant the cool night air hit her, and her left knee banged against the corner of the night stand. Barbara swallowed back a sharp, pained curse, and sat back down.  Her slight wheeze and quick movement roused Walter, who sputtered and snorted awake in surprise.

 

“Hunh?” Her changeling groaned behind her, his eyes flashing bright yellow, his body tensing. She turned around and held up her finger to her lips. He fell silent in an instant and stared at her curiously.

 

“It was a diagnosis of Pernicious anemia,” Barbara answered twisting back around. The mattress creaked with the movement and she scooted forward to rest her elbows against her knees. Her left knee throbbed against the added weight.

 

“Just B-12 injections,” She replied and rubbed at her eyes before squinting into the dark to find her glasses. She couldn’t see them.  Sighing, Barbara, pinched the bridge of her nose and frowned, “And those… no those don’t cause anything like what you’re describing. Just… get Roy situated and I’ll be there to check him out.”

 

“Unfortunately that won’t be necessary.” Lois Creed said quietly before taking in a deep reluctant breath.

 

“Why not?” Barbara asked her mind suddenly going into overdrive.  She had a good idea as to why, the fluttering of her heart beating violently against her chest wanted to reject what she already knew. Several years of experience telling her that she would not like what Creed was about to say.

 

“He’s dead.”

* * *

 

11 a.m.

The guitarists

 

Shannon Longhannon needed money.

 

The Treasury fiasco had seen to that.

 

Her parents, fluctuating between being horrified and being impressed, had been at a loss of what to do. After some consideration, they decided to settle on horrified, and therefore they agreed unambiguously that the only suitable punishment was to refuse to pay for Shannon’s phone bill for the rest of the year. To,  _ teach you the value of hard earned work and to discourage further… _ Shannon had stopped listening.  She needed money, which was why she had been standing in front of this deep red door for over 20 minutes. Waiting or hoping for some sign of life from within the Perin Household.  Anne had asked her a week prior to watch Ian, and after some haggling and settling on a payment of $100 dollars for an expected 4 hours, Shannon, agreed.

 

“I’m bored.” Mary Wang complained from her chosen seat on the porch railing. Resisting the urge to groan out loud Shannon instead, twitched and adjusted her glasses.  Shannon had a reason to be there. Mary Wang, however, did not. Mary had been bored, and as was her custom had sat, by herself, outside of the café waiting until adventure, or, in this case, Shannon, had been spotted and thus followed.

 

“Can we leave?” Mary asked her as she raised her fist and rapped against the door for the tenth time in as many minutes.

 

“Not yet.” She said, scraping her shoe against the  _ Leave mud here  _ doormat that lay before the deep red wood door.  Shannon sighed and shuffled from on foot to the other. The brass doorknob monitored and distorted Shannon’s movements.  She pulled out her phone and called the house. Inside the phone rang several times, but there was no visible movement behind the white curtains of the front window.  It was confirmed, no one was there, the Perin house was dead.

 

“Who are you?” an irritated gruff voice called out to them from their left. Standing in a bright blue robe, a disgruntled looking man stood behind a white picket fence. The neighbor eyed them suspiciously.

 

“I’m like the babysitter,” Mary said simply, not bothering to look up from her phone, striking in Shannon’s mind, a perfect picture of someone who could not be less suited for the job. From the way the man’s frown deepened, she could guess that his thoughts ran along the same line.  A quick glance at the mailbox told Shannon the man’s name.

 

“Sorry Mr. Birnam,” She said, adjusting her glasses and flashing a small tight embarrassed smile.  Birnam’s dark eyes flickered in surprise before narrowing as if he was trying to place her. She widened her smile knowing full well that they had not in fact, met.

 

“You here for the boy?”

 

“Here to watch Ian.” Shannon confirmed nodding and motioned towards the door.

 

“Hmm,” Birnam's expression did not change, but Shannon noticed how his hands at his sides clenched into fists.

 

“They’re not here.”

 

“Oh.” Mary and Shannon shared a glance. Birnam pressed on.

“Royce was sent to the hospital this morning. The boy and his mother are probably there with him.”

“Oh.”

Nodding to himself, convinced, that he had fulfilled his quota of daily gossiping, Mr. Birnam waved his newspaper and turned up his steps and shuffled back up into his house.

 

“Strickler always needs extra hands at the museum.” Mary shrugged her thumbs going a mile a minute as they tapped against the phone screen. “How much did Perin offer you?”

 

“A hundred.”

Mary stopped typing, “Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“I’m impressed you convinced her to land on that price.”

Mary’s cell pinged once again and she smiled widely at Shannon.

“Strickler agreed,” she waved the text in front of her face; “He must really need help with that new exhibit.”

“What time?”

“He says 3 to 7. Food provided.”

“That works.” Shannon said nonchalant and reached down to brush her skirt of small flecks of lint. “Thank you by the way, for asking him.”

 

“No problem,” Mary replied happily before jumping off the banister.

 

Together the two descended the stairs and made to walk in the direction of town. Or at least they would have had they not paused in unison to look back at the Perin house. The two girls stared down the length of the house. Taking in the pale gray paint and small unkempt palm trees, before tailing towards the back yard where the fence door was creaking open and the shutting closed, though there was no wind to cause it to do so.

In the brief moments that the fence door opened the back yard seemed to be draped in thick viscous shadow in spite of the fact that the early morning sun was golden bright and warm. The area gave off a strong sense of foreboding and a powerful wave of abhorrence surged within her in an instant.  Longhannon flinched back several paces, grabbing Mary’s arm in the process. They shared another look and Shannon could see her own illogical fear reflected clearly in Mary’s dark eyes. They said nothing and moved, perhaps a bit more quickly, away from the house. Shannon did not let go of Mary’s arm until they passed Stuarts electronics.

* * *

 

 

12 p.m

The apartment complex on the hill.

 

Had Mrs. Ridgeway bothered to look closely at her neighbor, she would have noticed the lurching walk, would have noticed the nervous half twitch clenching of his misaligned jaw whenever the sun light directly hit him. Had she looked she would have known something was terribly wrong.  A simple yet tentative glance at Mick’s grey blue eyes would have been enough to telegraph to her the vague sense that something human had gone missing. Had she bothered to look, she might have taken more time to choose her actions more carefully. And had she done so, then, perhaps certain future events could have been avoided.

 

But the fact was that Mrs. Ridgeway did not look closely at her neighbor, in fact she did not look at him at all.  When McCormack, knocked on the glass door and motioned to be let in Mrs. Ridgeway did not think to look him over. For when  she had opened the door and Mick had uttered that single cough, a cough so dainty, so small, so incredibly terrifying to the old, and old Mrs. Ridgeway was, She flinched back quickly and held the door long enough to utter a slight almost unheard “get in” before marching as fast as she could towards the elevator. She watched relieved as the pale young man staggered up the stairs instead of joining her. It was only as the elevator doors opened and Ridgway had taken a half step inside that she craned her head to the side and looked at his retreating form.  His heavy breathing echoed in the stairway. 

 

The back of his clothes was wet, dark and black and covered with a thin film of what appeared to be black ash and brown yellow mud. His usual bright red hair was dark auburn and plastered to the back of his neck with sweat.  He disappeared and Mrs. Ridgeway stepped into the elevator and selected her floor, when the doors closed, any concern the Mrs. Ridgeway might have briefly had for McCormack disappeared, and she quickly refocused on making sure she had the necessary items to avoid getting sick with whatever that boy had.


End file.
